


perfect shade of song

by haleofStilesheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dean is a Sweetheart, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Music, Painter Castiel (Supernatural), Painting, Playlist, dean is a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 09:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12363183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleofStilesheart/pseuds/haleofStilesheart
Summary: There's been music coming from Cas' bedroom for three days straight. Dean finally decides to drag him out of his room.





	perfect shade of song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charlesdk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesdk/gifts).



> For the emoji prompt:

There was music coming from Cas' room. Again.

A more accurate word would be  _ still. _ He had been playing the same playlist on repeat for the past three days in a row. No breaks, no pauses, no deviation in the pattern of songs.

The only thing that changed was the volume. It fluctuated as the day went on, barely audible in the mornings and at night, sometimes almost deafening loud in the interim.

It was a small mercy for the humans who also called the Bunker their home, the ones who actually needed to sleep and shower and shit.

The playlist started with classical music. Strictly instrumental songs. Concertos and arias, haunting melodies and romantic ballets.

Dean thought it was rather fitting. Leave it to an angel to be naturally attracted to music heavily featuring harps and heavenly choirs of violins and cellos.

Sam found it pretty ironic entertaining, too. He had joked a few times about the piano they had found in one of the larger storage rooms, suggesting they move it into the library.

Knowing Cas, he would probably be both bemused and charmed, more than willing to learn how exactly to navigate the black and white keys. And if Dean knew Cas as well as he thought he did, the angel would ramble for hours about the history of the instrument.

The mere thought made him smile. Cas would probably be a wonderful musician with his long fingers and sometimes unnerving eye, or rather ear, for detail.

Who knew, maybe Cas could become the first angelic composer. He might even be famous, and wasn't that a hilarious thought.

Dean could just imagine awkward, dorky Cas in a sea of adoring fans fawning all over him. Poor guy would probably be traumatized.

But until then, until he even learned how to play an instrument himself, he would have to make do with his playlist.

The classical section of the playlist started slowly with Nina Miller's  _ Plié Slow _ and Rinaldi's  _ Spanish Waltz _ . Both of which were soft and soothing, perfect for greeting the pale sunlight of the morning.

Christine Prato's _ the Prayer  _ was up next, immediately followed by Elger's  _ Serenade for Strings _ and a lovely harp solo that's name constantly escaped Dean. They were just as sweet as the first songs, flanked by more of the same.

From the serene, tranquil songs, the tone quickly turned rather melancholic. Samuel Barber's  _ Adagio For Strings _ was tailed by Bach's  _ Come, Sweet Death. _

The latter of which a bit too morbid in Dean's opinion, especially for a song in the morning. Fortunately, the clinically depressed portion of the playlist did not last very long.

Opera was next up on the set list.

There were some classics that Dean recognized,  _ Don Giovanni, Ave Maria, _ Andrea Bocelli's  _ Con Te Partirò. _ But it was mostly composed of a plethora of songs that he couldn't have been able to name if someone had a gun to his head.

Sam, the nerd, was a bit better at identifying the miscellaneous songs. He pointed out a few names here and there.  _ Vivo Per Lei, Vide Cor Meum, Die Zauberflöte. _

Around ten o'clock, the era of the music changed, shifting into contemporary instrumentals. They ranged from slow and ethereal sounding, like the first snowfall of winter, to fast and blood pumping, like a shot of adrenaline.

Both Sam and Dean had been surprised when they heard the first chords of a contemporary song echoing through the Bunker from Cas' room. They had never had an inkling whatsoever that Cas might actually enjoy modern music.

Their surprise continued when the contemporary instrumentals bled into modern ballads and softer pop songs. There was an interesting mix of songs in foreign languages, French and German and Korean if they weren't mistaken, blended together with songs from American artists.

Another intriguing change occurred mid-afternoon when the upbeat pop songs and, yes, even rap music faded away to be replaced by nothing other than classic rock.

Electric guitars and loud drums replaced autotuned voices and synths, filling the Bunker with tunes from the seventies and eighties. The songs were familiar, full of nostalgia and memories of days spent on the road.

Dean had nearly choked on his beer the first time he had heard  _ Ramble On _ coming from Cas' room at full volume. Sam had been equally surprised.

Neither of them would have ever guessed that Cas would be a Led Zeppelin fan. Yet, the angel wound up going through nearly their entire discography.

He also worked his way through several albums from Queen, Kansas, the Beatles, and Aerosmith, keeping the volume almost as high as Dean did in the Impala. Apparently, Dean's taste in music had rubbed off on the angel.

After a few hours of classic, the era of music shifted once again and modern rock began pouring out of Cas' room. The songs varied between punk rock, pop rock, and hard rock but it was all raucous and loud and full of angst.

Neither Sam nor Dean could name any of the songs, raising the question of where exactly Cas had heard them in the first place. He seemed to enjoy them, listening to them throughout the night, volume turned down until the music was a mere whisper is the quiet of the night.

Usually Sam and Dean didn't mind. They were more than happy to let Cas listen to his music all day, to let him get lost in his own playlist when he wasn't busy tracking down the last of the rogue angels or helping the Winchesters hunt.

Hell, they were just glad he wasn't off somewhere in the middle of yet another suicide mission. And if music was what kept him at the Bunker, then so be it.

But after three days of the angel locking himself away in his room, music playing non-stop, not even venturing out for some pancakes, his favorite, Dean had had enough. So, while Sam was out on a grocery run, the nearest grocery store an hour away, Dean decided to pay Cas a little visit.

_ Hotel California _ was reverberating through the Bunker as Dean marched down the hallway to Cas' room. The music grew subtly louder as he approached the angel's room, Don Henley's voice growing more clear.

He didn't bother knocking, it wasn't likely that Cas would be able to hear him over the guitar solo anyway, regardless of angelic hearing. Pushing open the door, Dean found Cas in the same spot he left him four days ago.

Sitting cross-legged on the polished concrete floor in a pair of gray threadbare sweatpants and an old black AC/DC t-shirt, covered nearly head to toe in splotches of dried paint, Cas was staring at a large canvas.

He was using his right hand to smear dark blue paint on the canvas, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The tip of his tongue was sticking out, a habit he had picked up from Dean himself.

His hair was messy and if he wasn't an angel, it would probably be greasy. There was a spot of lilac paint on his left cheek, flaking and peeling off.

His borrowed t-shirt was splattered with strokes of paint that varied in color from a stark white to a vibrant spring green to a delicate blush pink. His sweatpants were similarly messy, stained with dark red stripes and globs of bright yellow.

Dean took a glance around the room, whistling at the changes Cas had made.

The angel had shoved the bed, dresser, and nightstand against a far wall, filling the rest of the room with dozens of canvases and poster boards. Art supplies littered the floor, mostly paints and paint brushes, ranging from watercolors to acrylic to tempera.

Finished paintings hung on the walls and the shelf that ran along the wall above the bed. There was a watercolor scene of green trees surrounding a crystal clear lake on one wall, a nebula of deep purples and blues done in oil paint hung on another.

Since moving into the Bunker, Cas had taken up painting. Dean had no clue where Cas had gotten the idea from but he wasn't going to begrudge him his new pastime.

Sam had been just as supportive when Cas announced his interest in taking up the hobby, driving him to the nearest craft store to help him pick out some supplies. He had returned to the Bunker two hours later with his arms full of canvas and paint sets and a beaming angel in tow.

Cas had taken to painting like a fish to water, or some other simile more befitting to an angel, using it like a form of meditation. Which wasn't a problem until the angel holed up in his room for half a week painting.

"Hello, Dean," Cas greeted, his voice a monotonous drone, absentminded and automatic. He was clearly distracted, too preoccupied with his finger painting to even glance in Dean's direction.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door jamb. Scanning his eyes over the room again, he quipped, "What's it been, man? Few weeks?"

Cas just hummed, stretching his arm up to add a smudge of blue near the top of the canvas. Dean couldn't tell what exactly it was that Cas was painting but it was pretty nonetheless, a smattering of various colors smashed together to make something breathtakingly beautiful.

"Alright, c'mon," he urged, pushing himself away from the wall and taking a few steps towards Cas. Making a quick come hither gesture with his hand, he continued, "Get up. You need a shower. Then we're gonna get you something to eat."

"I don't require sustenance, Dean. You're aware of that," Cas retorted, a little bit of emotion bleeding into his voice. Of course, that emotion was irritation but beggars couldn't be choosers and Dean was content to take whatever he could.

"Yeah, well, it'll make me feel better, okay?" Dean shot back, gesturing a bit more urgently. He knew he had won when Cas sighed and reached over with his clean hand to pause his playlist, cutting Robert Plant off mid-lyric.

He rose to his feet without any discernible effort, turning to Dean for further instruction. Dean wasn't shy about providing it, hooking a thumb over his shoulder and directing, "Bathroom."

Cas bobbed his head in acknowledgement before slipping past Dean to pad down the hallway to the bathroom. Dean flicked the lights off in Cas' room and turned to follow Cas to the bathroom.

When he got there, to the room of white tiles and multiple showerheads that ran parallel to a row of lockers, he changed his mind. Instead, he laid a hand on Cas' back and led him over to the clawfoot tub in the corner of the bathroom.

"Take a quick shower then come back over here, alright?" Dean suggested as he took a seat on the lip of the tub. He leaned over to turn on the faucet.

Cas nodded and disappeared around the corner of the lockers. Dean could hear the soft sound of his clothes landing on the floor before one of the showerheads turned on, a rush of water drowning everything else out.

While Cas scrubbed off the worst of the paint, Dean fussed with the bathtub knobs, occasionally dipping his hand under the faucet to check the temperature. Once he deemed it affordable, he plugged the tub, sitting up to wait for it to fill.

On a whim, he stood and crossed to one of the lockers facing the tub. He rifled around in it until he found the bottle of fancy bubble bath that Charlie had given him for his birthday.

He squirted some into the tub, figuring that Cas would appreciate the bubbles. The angel was a sucker for any sort of luxury like plush throw pillows or fuzzy slippers, so a bubble bath wouldn't be too outlandish for him.

Cas shut off the shower just as Dean was turning off the bathtub taps, rounding the corner a few seconds later. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his face pink where he had scrubbed off the blotch of light purple paint.

Dean waved him over to the tub, noting with great pride the wide smile that stretched across Cas' face at the sight of the bubbles in the tub. Grabbing his elbow, Dean helped Cas climb into the tub.

The angel let out a low groan of contentment as he laid down in the warm water, his eyes falling closed. Dean reclaimed his seat on the lip of the tub, reaching a hand down to tangle his fingers in Cas' wet hair.

"Feel better?" He asked, scratching his nails along Cas' scalp. Cas just nodded, another low hum thundering out of him.

"Much," he responded softly, sounding peaceful and tired. Sniffling a bit, he announced, "Perhaps I should do this when I'm stressed. Rather than spending all my time painting."

"Yeah, sounds like a plan," Dean agreed, smiling down at his angel. "We can even make you a new playlist."

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr [here,](hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr.com) maybe send me a prompt or two!


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